


Dewey Despicable

by ghostystarr



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Romance, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostystarr/pseuds/ghostystarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To the toddler who left coffee stains all over the ancient myth books – have you ever heard of these fantastic things called lids? You can put them on all sorts of things; cups, Tupperware, a coffin. Which is exactly what I’ll be shutting you in if you desecrate my thesis paper’s primary sources again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dewey Despicable

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted my first Voltron fic to be something serious and instead I finished this one first, I cry.

It was the rain that should be blamed. Heavy, deluging rain that sounded like heaven’s cavalry trotting on the roof, the kind that soaked down to the bone, leaving behind a chill to be carried around all day. It was the spring rain that had Lance running like a frantic loon into the library one gloomy evening. Otherwise, he would have kept on walking and bummed a dollar off of Hunk for a soda out of the vending machines out front and enjoyed his weekend without a care. Otherwise, he would have never changed at all.

Lance had only been inside this particular library once or twice before and that was to meet dates – which had all, much to his friends’ amusement, ended quite unsuccessfully. He thought, then, that it had smelt like dust and a world not meant for him. He thought, now, that he had a very sharp nose.

He ruffled a hand through his hair, shaking droplets onto the carpet, and stayed close to the doors. He refused to let himself wander too far into the labyrinth of leather-bounded academia. He had done his time and he simply refused to look at another book for the night.

It was the allure of coffee – sweet, warm, chocolate-infused coffee – from the newly installed café inside that pulled him further inside. He was wet and he had had a very trying semester so far and so, determinedly ignoring the rows of books like they were the nosy aunt at a family reunion, he bee-lined for the café and handed over a wad of money for blessed caffeine when he should have used it to pay back Hunk.

Slightly less depressed with the warm weight of the to-go cup in his hand, Lance prayed the storm would pass soon. It was gym day. It was ‘go binge watch _Scrubs’_ day. It was ‘get the hell off of campus and literally do anything that wasn’t study for an exam’ day. Midterms season was looming closer and closer and Lance felt grossly underprepared. Still, he had just finished a hefty presentation and turned in a paper. He _deserved_ a weekend of bad life choices, and he was taking Hunk and Pidge down with him.

He pulled out his phone to text said friends, and maybe procure a ride back to his apartment to dodge the raging storm, but it was predictably dead. So he continued deeper into the library, symbol of everything he was trying to run away from, in valiant search of an electric outlet. It was what modern day epic plays were written about.

Most of the plugs were being occupied by stone-faced students hunched over laptops. They were either typing furiously with their laptop fans whirring in protest or huddled into their hoodies and scrolling down social media accounts mindlessly. None of them acknowledged Lance’s presence, further strengthening Lance’s ongoing theory that homework after high school was designed by professors to kill what was left of a young adult’s childhood.

Eventually, Lance found a free plug and mouthed a silent thanks to the heavens as he went to claim it. It was in a corner on the second floor, surrounded by old and dusty books that no one had probably touched in decades. There was a desk squeezed in between two shelves, graffitied and worn, and several open books had been left there, as if their reader would return soon. However, Lance didn’t see a bag or a laptop, which meant that the plug was his for the taking.

He reached for his backpack. His roommates, Hunk and Pidge, always chastised Lance for keeping too much in it, but what Pidge failed to grasp was that Lance was not a _hoarder_ , but rather a _survivalist._ He had everything he needed to survive the typical and untypical day on campus. Phone charger, extra phone charger, snacks, water, first aid kit, flashlight, takeout menus, notebooks, hoodie, underwear, condoms, 3DS, face cream – the works. However, in that moment, Lance had been overeager and yanked out the cord too hard. He swore he heard Pidge’s laughter as the cord caught on one of Lance’s books and everything burst free as if in slow motion. In his frenzied, panicked rush to catch it all, Lance screamed and threw his coffee without thinking.

Instead of flawlessly extracting a simple USB cable, Lance had managed to dump every item on the floor and garner the attention of everyone around him. Lance gave a weak, single chuckle, before sinking down to collect his things. “Dammit,” he muttered, eyeing the cute blonde who was giggling behind her hand at him. He picked everything up, plugged in his phone, and thoughtlessly raised a hand to take a drink of his delicious coffee. His coffee which he had thrown. Directly onto the open books behind him.

 _“Shit,”_ Lance drawled and looked around. Everyone had gone back to their business, the fear of deadlines more pressing than Lance’s blunder, and his phone was at twenty percent. It would have to do. He straightened his back and prepared to do what any good, honest person would do in a situation like this.

He hauled ass.

.

Pidge had laughed when Lance explained what happened. Hunk expressed sympathy at first, but Lance didn’t miss the, “I totally called it, though,” that he muttered under his breath.

“Oh, whatever, man,” Lance interjected and placed his hands on his chest. “It just means that I, like a hermit crab grown too large for its shell, need to go buy a bigger bag.”

 _“Or,”_ Pidge interrupted, “you could carry less shit.”

Hunk pointed at Pidge in support.

"What if I need something?  What if there's an emergency?"

"You live two minutes away from campus, Lance."

"It only takes a second to be caught unprepared!" Lance protested.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go wash the smell of coffee out of the inside of my bag."  He ignored his roommates' snorts and lifted his bag.  He reached for the charm he'd had as a child, the one his mother had given him the first day of kindergarten and told him it was lucky.  Lance kept it on every backpack he'd had for nearly sixteen years and he wasn't about to let his defective washing machine eat it like it did his socks.  He blindly searched the side of his bag for the charm hanging off of the zipper, and let out a panicked squeak when it wasn't there.

"What?" Pidge asked.

"My lion!" Lance bellowed, observing each inch of his bag closely.  "My lucky lion is gone!"

"Not Lil Blue!" Hunk cried, equally as dismayed.  "Dude, you've had that longer than I've even known you."

"You're such a pack rat," Pidge muttered.

"Aw, man, it probably fell off when all that shit fell out of my bag!" Lance sighed, sinking back on his couch in defeat.  "In the _library."_ A convenient flash and a low rumble of thunder accompanied his words, as if Lance wasn’t nearly certain his life was a laughable horror already.

Pidge chuckled.  "Looks like you'll have to return to the scene of the crime."

Lance just flipped them both off.

.

The next morning, Lance set off towards the library for the second time in twenty-four hours.  It felt wrong, like a-cheetah-sleeping-next-to-a-defenseless-antelope level of wrong, to be walking up campus on a Saturday.  Usually, he would still be in bed.  Or eating Hunk's famous confetti pancakes.  Or avoiding any semblance of adult responsibility altogether.

He stopped outside of the library doors, hand on one of his bag's straps, and frowned at his reflection. "Do it for Blue," he said to himself and went in.

The library was considerably less crowded than it was yesterday, and it didn't take long for Lance to get back to the ‘scene of the crime’.  It still smelled like coffee, but Lance kept his eyes trained to the ground, panning the dull carpeting for his lucky charm.  He found it underneath the desk chair and scooped it up with a triumphant shout.  "Gotcha!" He beamed and admired it in his palm for a moment.  It was small, the size of a nickel, and shaped like a lion in mid-run, mouth open.  It was from some kids' show that was popular when he was a kid, but had never really watched.  The sentimental value was what Lance liked about it.

After securing it to his bag again, Lance surveyed the damage of the books on the desk.  To his surprise, the books were gone and in their place sat a poorly torn piece of notebook paper.

_To the toddler who left coffee stains all over the ancient myth books – have you ever heard of these fantastic things called lids? You can put them on all sorts of things; cups, Tupperware, a coffin. Which is exactly what I’ll be shutting you in if you desecrate my thesis paper’s primary sources again._

_Sincerely, your new worst enemy_

Lance stared. He felt kind of bad for spilling hot coffee on old books, but what kind of an asshole actually wrote rude notes in public about it? Quickly, he rummaged around in his pockets for a pencil, but only found a broken green crayon he had acquired one drunken night at an Applebee’s. He flipped the offending note over and began to write.

_Dear worst enemy – sorry about the books and your thesis. By the way, you know what else is fantastic? People who leave life-threatening notes in public buildings! Put a lid on that._

_Sincerely, An Actual Toddler_

Grinning, Lance pocketed his crayon and went on his way with an innocent whistle.

.

He hadn't planned on returning to the library on Monday.  He hadn't really thought about the situation at all since the previous Saturday.  However, after his physics class was abruptly cancelled, Lance found himself with a free hour.  He was too lazy to walk back to his apartment just to come back out so he ambled campus for awhile, enjoying the sun after a weekend of gloom, before he happened across the library.

Curiosity piqued.  Not for knowledge, but for his self-proclaimed worst enemy.  Had he read Lance's note?  Had he left another one?  Lance couldn't help but wonder.  If nothing else, he could buy another coffee and waste time in the cafe.

So he went, for the third time in three days, and was not disappointed.

_To the toddler – I warmly reject your apology like my thesis rejects the heteronormative agenda of modern scholars who study Homer’s classics. That is to say; totally and without remorse. It’s a task that has, thanks to you, been reduced to wiping library shelves._

_Sincerely, Lid Enthusiast_

Lance scoffed.  He only understood about half of what the note was trying to say, but he knew it was supposed to be offensive. Lance frowned. He lived by a strict moral code, a sacred list of self-governance; he _would_ have the last laugh.  He was going to outdo his supposed enemy and he was going to enjoy it.

_Dear ‘Lid Enthusiast’ - using big words to confuse others is the lamest, least creative way to beat your opponent.  I am ashamed and embarrassed to be your enemy.  If you want a real fight, do it like a normal human and say fuck a lot._

_Yours, A Fucking Winner_

Lance slammed the paper down onto the desk and stomped away.  He'd be back tomorrow if that was what it took to shut this guy up.  He'd be there the day after that.  And the one after that.  And the one after that, too.

_._

The Struggle, as Lance dubbed it, continued for two grueling weeks. Most of the notes were short and biting, igniting a competitive flare in Lance that had him spewing every sharp insult his mother had ever taught him. But, every once in a while, one would break through the normal barriers and leave Lance confused or, even worse, laughing.

_Dear Complete Asshole, have you ever, by chance, visited the biology department? They would be astounded to discover that such a primitive mind still exists in the modern world with the cognitive ability to produce a comeback other than ‘yo momma’._

_Sincerely, Fuck You_

Lance held the letter in his hand and sniggered into his other one. He had, indeed, signed the previous letter as ‘Sincerely, Yo Momma’ and hadn’t expected such a humorous response. The words were still rude, but it lacked that severity that Lance had grown to expect from his worst enemy. It had almost become a game instead of a fight, but Lance was still determined to win.

_Dearest Fuck You, have you ever, by chance, visited the zoo on the other side of town? They would be astounded to discover that such a venomous snake managed to slip through their security to become a boring fucking Classics major. Gonna tempt me with some apples next?_

_Sincerely, Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve_

The next day came with the response;

_If I was a snake then only thing that would be tempting would be to bite myself and wait for the sweet release of death._

_Sincerely, Blessed Silence_

“He’s such a bastard!” Lance complained to his friends that night. He angrily stabbed at his meal while Pidge and Hunk exchanged tired glances. “I mean, seriously, who does he think he is? Acting all high and mighty all the time.”

“Yeah,” Pidge muttered, eyeing him wearily, “isn’t it so annoying when people act so full of themselves?”

“It’s the worst,” Lance agreed and Pidge groaned. “He’s, like, the Grinch of the Library. No, the dick king of the Dewey Decimal system. He’s—” Lance gasped. “He’s Dewey Despicable.”

“Oh, God,” Hunk whispered.

Lance grinned and jabbed at his chicken again. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow so he could rub that amazing nickname back in that jerk’s face.

_._

_Dear Dewey Despicable, it has literally been weeks. Make like Idina Menzel and let it go already!  I can't believe this is my life._

And, again, the next day;

_Dear Moron, who the hell is Idina Menzel?  And I will NOT let it go because I have yet to receive an honest apology!  This thesis is a requirement for graduation.  I've been working on it since sophomore year.  I am not going to lose time just because someone never graduated from sippy cups!_

Lance gaped at the note. The insults were lost on him as he concentrated on one very important, very telling fact.

_Dear Poor, Unfortunate Soul - WHO IS IDINA MENZEL?  Oh my God.  Your douchiness makes sense now.  And, you’re right I apologize.  I am so sorry that you have never experienced that absolute magic that is Idina's amazing voice.  What a dark world you must live in._

_Sincerely, The Enlightened_

The reply was short, aggravating, and simple.

_You are literally the worst human being I have ever come into contact with._

.

Lance was still fuming when he marched back to the library. He had worked all night on a clever response to Dewey Despicable. There was absolutely no way they would be able to top this one. Lance had won.

He was passing the café, only revenge on his mind, when he saw it. Him. A lean guy in a red jacket cursed loudly as he dropped his phone. One look at the guy’s sharply defined face and those almond-shaped eyes had Lance’s inner GPS already rerouting. They both bent down at the same time, fingers brushing, and Lance’s killer line about picking up some digits died on his lips the moment their eyes met.

The man’s eyes were even prettier up close. Grey with a splash of color, distracting, glaring straight at him. The dark knit beanie the man wore had obstructed view of his hair but, now, Lance could see it was grown past his ears and down the tape of his neck. There was some red peeking out underneath the hat and Lance sucked in a deep breath. The man swiped his phone swiftly, but not before Lance realized the man had been listening to the _Wicked_ soundtrack, and Lance quickly realized that he was going to have to think of a much more creative line if he wanted to have any semblance of a chance with this one.

“Thanks, I got it,” the man said dismissively, turning, and Lance blinked. On the man’s bag sat a little charm. A red lion. Nearly identical to Lance’s blue one.

“Hey!” he blurted, excited. “Nice charm, man!” The man turned again, eyebrow raised, but Lance hastened to show him his own bag, pointing at Blue hanging off of his zipper.

To Lance’s surprise, the man cracked a smile. “I didn’t think anyone else remembered that crappy kids’ show.”

Lance laughed and didn’t mention how he never watched it. “Are you kidding me? It’s, like, a classic.”

“If you like bad animation, laughable voice acting, and questionable plots,” the man interjected.

“Who doesn’t?” He smiled and held out a hand. “I’m Lance.”

The man took it. “Keith Kogane.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a charming grin. “So… you come here often?” Apparently, that had been painfully funny to the other man. Keith chuckled and Lance frowned. “What?”

“I’ve never heard anyone say that outside of a movie.” He shook his head. “But, yes, I guess I do come here a lot. Do you?”

Lance held back his smile. “Do I what?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Do you come here often?” he said grudgingly.

“See, people say it,” Lance said. “And, well, I never used to come to the library but lately I have.”

They talked lightly as the line moved forward. Lance hadn’t even realized he was in one until Keith relayed his order to the barista, who then looked at Lance expectantly. “Nothing for me,” he said, which was a mistake, but Keith just gave him an unreadable look and said nothing.

“So, let me guess,” Lance said to break the awkwardness and glanced up and down at Keith Kogane’s graphic tee and ripped jeans and the plaid shirt tied around his waist, “art major?”

Keith replied, “Classics,” and for a moment it almost clicked together but then Keith grinned and Lance’s thoughts were lost. “And what about you? Theater?”

Lance scoffed and placed a hand on his chest. “Business major.”

“Really?”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… business is a serious program, isn’t it?”

Lance puffed out his cheeks. “What’s your point?”

Just then, the barista called out Keith’s name and handed him a to-go cup. Keith gave Lance a coy shrug, but Lance didn’t miss the smile that appeared on his lips. “Nothing,” Keith said, heading towards the door. “See you around, Lance.”

Lance stood, frozen for a few moments, before he realized he was holding up the line and jumped out of the way. He couldn’t allow for his mission to be delayed because of pretty boys any longer. He reached into his back pocket, felt the horrible note that was sure to secure victory, and then headed for the second floor.

It was remarkably empty for midterms, but Lance wasn’t complaining. The less witnesses to Dewey Despicable’s death the better. He hummed to himself, still thinking of Keith’s eyes, as he walked to the same corner he’d been going to for two weeks and then froze.

There was someone sitting at the desk. No one had ever been there before. No one else probably knew the spot even existed. Which meant that he was currently looking at the back of the jerk’s head. The same jerk who had jerked him around with his jerky words and jerk face. He opened his mouth, ready to call out the other’s bullshit, when he saw a red jacket folded over the back of the chair and a dark beanie resting on top.

“NO WAY!” Lance shouted and the man at the desk jumped and spun around. His glare melted into surprise and then suspicion, but there was no mistaking those eyes. “KEITH?”

“Er… Lance?” Keith tilted his head to the side. “Are you following me?”

“No!” Lance pointed at him. “You’re… you… are you the jerk that’s been leaving me all these notes?”

Keith’s expression changed on a dime. A storm brewed in his grey eyes and a scowl pulled at his lips. “You’re the toddler who spilled his coffee on my books?”

“Oh, well, this is just perfect!” Lance threw his hands up. “The hot mystery guy at the coffee shops ends up being the biggest doucher the universe has ever known. Yeah, that’s fine. Why not?”

Keith blinked. “Hot mystery guy?”

Lance threw him a sour look. _“Biggest doucher the universe has ever known,”_ he repeated.

Then, Keith did something that Lance had never expected. He laughed. The sound was bright and crisp against the dull texts and cement-blocked walls. Lance was lost. “Sorry,” Keith choked out, “I just… were you taking those notes seriously?”

“WHAT?”

“Oh my God!” Keith broke into laughter again. “I was only mad about the books for, like, two minutes before I found new scans online. When you replied, you were so dramatic that I thought you were joking. It was fun to rile you up so…” He snorted. “And you thought it was… what, a fight? That’s so…”

“Hey, shut up!” Lance shouted, flushing. This entire time Lance had thought he’d been in some large rivalry, it had been kind of exciting, but to realize that his supposed rival hadn’t been taking any of it seriously… it was embarrassing.

“Cute,” Keith finished. “It’s really cute.”

And, just like that, Lance faltered. Keith’s smile was something Lance could get used to seeing, something worth burying the hatchet for, even if it meant being the butt of a joke sometimes.

“If you think that’s cute,” Lance said, “then you should read this.” He handed Keith the final note and watched as Keith’s expression rippled with humor and incredulousness. Had he always made those faces while reading Lance’s notes?

When Keith reached the end, he said, “Wow, you’re an asshole,” and then, that time, they both laughed.

.

_Four Months Later_

Lance woke up to an empty bed, which made him frown.  However, he quickly spotted the red jacket on his chair, a clear sign that its owner would be back soon, which made him smile.  In the four months since Lance splashed coffee all over Keith's books, he had gotten used to Keith leaving all sorts of things in his apartment. Clothes, books, toothbrushes, DVDs of that crappy kids’ show Keith loved – Keith had become present in every aspect of his life.

It had started out rather rocky. Their first date had been the same weekend they met, but had ended in a fierce debate over where to eat and then who should pay. Then, after Lance had scored Keith’s number, the bickering just elevated until, at some point, Keith just became another part of his day. The morning went; wake up, eat breakfast, text Keith. The afternoon was; go to class, write notes, get lunch with Keith. The evening went; hang out with friends, eat dinner, kick Keith’s ass in MarioKart. It was singing _Defying Gravity_ in the car with their fingers laced together. It was nearly breaking the Ping Pong paddle when Keith beat him in a game. It was the red and blue lion charms dangling off of the same hook. It was something Lance had never anticipated when he first walked into the library at the beginning of the semester to dodge some rain.

There was a note on the empty pillow, scrawled in scribbly handwriting that Lance used to hate and had long since memorized the sharp, swooping curves to the point that he was pretty sure he’d be able to recognize its writer for the rest of his life. A smile stretched onto his face as he read.

_Lance, had to go to class. I'll be back in an hour with coffee. Try not to spill it this time._

_P.S. You snored.  All night.  I'm calling your mom for that mouth guard thing._

_Sincerely, your best boyfriend_

**Author's Note:**

> But anyways, someone spilled coffee on my ancient civ books I left out in the library so I left an angry note and received a few sarcastic ones in response. I didn't get a new boyfriend. I just got Suffering and a chance to use some Hamilton references. "I have the honor to be your Obedient Servant, G. Starr."
> 
> tumblr; [ghostystarr](http://ghostystarr.tumblr.com)


End file.
